


Karaoke Night

by Neth_Smiley



Category: True Detective
Genre: Gen, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neth_Smiley/pseuds/Neth_Smiley
Summary: Rust Cohle can't even go to karaoke night without making it weird.
Relationships: Rustin "Rust" Cohle/Martin "Marty" Hart
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Karaoke Night

I swear to fuck, I should never have brought Rust to karoke night. It was for some of the guys, you know, you can’t meet just anywhere anymore, there’s supposed to be activities and you’re supposed to get something out of it when really all the guys want to do is have a drink and shoot the shit about the good old days.

Anyway, I should have never brought Rust, okay? It wasn’t the booze or anything, but I figured that maybe he’d manage to get a bit of the congratulations that make his eyes dance and we’d all go home drunk and happy. 

Now, Rust is kinda...retiring, you know? Not like that, but look, when I met him he had a corner he meditated in, okay? This is not a normal man we are talking about here. But he hates any kind of public appearance he has to pull, and so I figure, he’ll just sit by me or in the corner all night and talk about his last acid trip or something. Everybody's just going to have a nice night and a few drinks.

Okay, now. We get there, and the karaoke machine is set up, and we’re all ignoring it and getting a beer or two and settling in, not too loud, but we’re all trying to avoid going near that stupid thing. I don’t like singing -- not that I have anything against it, just, if you’re a man, you’re either a rock star or do it in church and that’s when you sing, that’s it. But Rust, I tell you, he saw that thing and his eyes flash like a muzzle flare and I know he’s going to pull some stupid shit. Because he’s Rust, and I love him, but you’ve got to remember he’s fucking insane.

So once people are getting into the swing of things, and maybe one or two other patrons have gone up and made fools of themselves, Rust gets up and lopes over to the guy setting up the music. A few words go back and forth, don’t know what they were, and Rust heads over to the mic. Gives me a grin like a fox eating shit off a barb-wire fence. Don’t think he knows any other way.

And then the title comes up on screen and I’m like, fuck, of course this is it. Of course it is, because Rust Cohle cannot do one single thing normal in his entire life.

“Timothy”. The fucker picks “Timothy”, by the Buoys. You know, the cannibal song from the 70’s? That one. For obvious reasons, all they have is the title card, so we’re just stuck watching Rust sing. Now, if I know anything about Rust, it’s that he hates public speaking, so I have no clue what’s gonna happen next. I hope he just spits out a few words and hums along. But that’s not my Rust.

He takes the mic off the stand and starts in, his eyes still bright and hard and crazy as hell. But at the same time, it’s intimate, like he’s hypnotizing the audience, because Rust Cohle is a man who will not be silenced by something as petty as a silent bar full of embarrassed cops.

_Trapped in a mine that had caved in  
And everyone knows the only ones left  
Were Joe and me and Tim_

_When they broke through to pull us free  
The only ones left to tell the tale  
Were Joe and me_

And then I realize, he’s fucking...he thinks this song, this fucking cannibal 70’s hippie crap, sounds like what he and I went through. Never mind that, in this case, the dead guy was a serial killer, no, to Rust it’s all the fucking same.

_Timothy, Timothy, where on earth did you go?  
Timothy, Timothy, God why don't I know?_

His voice turns into a piteous caterwaul, as if he really is desperate to know what happened in the mine -- in that den of horrors that almost got him killed. Okay, I’ve seen maudlin Rust. I can manage maudlin, drunk, whiny Rust. 

_Hungry as hell no food to eat  
And Joe said that he would sell his soul  
For just a piece of meat_

And then his entire manner changes, sleek and wolfish, as though he’s sharing a cruel secret with the audience. The movements and sounds he’s making would be, uh, pornographic at the best of times, but combined with the lyrics, it is just another layer of really fucking creepy.

_Water enough to drink for two  
And Joe said to me, "I'll have a swig  
And then there's some for you."_

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and I know that cocky grin he leaves behind, it’s the same way he wipes spit and cum off his face when he goes down on me -- because Rust might be a bastard, but that tongue isn’t just for mouthing off, if you know what I mean. And I know he knows that’s what it looks like, it doesn’t look like dying of thirst, it looks like pure sex. 

_Timothy, Timothy, Joe was looking at you  
Timothy, Timothy, God what did we do?_

Again. Room full of drunk cops. And Rust Cohle is making love to the audience like he’s Miley Cyrus or some shit.

_I must have blacked out just around then_  
'Cause the very next thing that I could see  
Was the light of the day again 

He is not getting invited next time. Don’t know why I try to include him in any kind of social life.


End file.
